Page 77 of Until You Break
I rolled my eyes, but the smile that broke was real. We kissed again, unfazed by the heads that turned to stare. A murmur rippled through the terrace, a chair scraped too loud, but Damiano only deepened the kiss, smug at every look we drew.
I watched as he waved the nervous waiter over, paying with the kind of easy confidence that made people move without question. Sunlight caught in his dark hair, his rings flashing as he lifted his hand, the line of his shoulders relaxed like the city bent for him. His eyes flicked with delight, his smile lazy. He was the most handsome man I'd ever laid eyes on. And he was mine. The thought was overwhelming.
"What?" he asked when he caught me staring.
"Nothing." I flushed, feeling warm and ridiculous all at once. I caught sight of the houses by the shore. "Did you know Palermo has been invaded more times than almost any other city in Europe? Arabs, Normans, Spaniards, all of them fought for this place, and somehow it always survived. In 1072 the Normans marched right through these streets and claimed the city for themselves."
"Are you interested in history now?" Damiano smirked. "My husband is so intelligent."
I rolled my eyes. "One fact doesn’t make me a professor."
"Mm, but it does make you charming," he shot back.
"Careful, or I’ll start quoting dates at you until you regret it."
"I’d survive it," he said dryly, pushing his chair back. Then he stood, slipped his arm around me, and pressed me close as we left. He winked at Adrian on the way to the car, like it was all a game only he understood.
By the time we returned home the afternoon was warm. In the car his hand pressed firm on my thigh, inching higher until his fingers brushed the bulge straining against me. He squeezed once, slow and deliberate, teasing me with his erection through the fabric, a filthy promise of what he’d do once we were alone. He leaned closer, his breath warm at my ear. “The second we’re alone, I’m going to taste you until there’s nothing left on your tongue but me,” he murmured, low and possessive. “I’ll keep you moaning until you can’t think of anything else.” I gasped at his words, my body trembling despite myself, heat and need tangled under my skin.
In the bedroom Damiano put on a record, the needle catching soft. He pushed me back against the wall before we ever made it to the bed, his mouth hard on mine, hands tugging at clothes until buttons scattered across the floor. We stripped rougher than we meant to, laughter breaking through the heat when a sleeve tore, when his rings scraped my skin. His mouth trailed down my neck, biting harder, licking the sting until I shivered. He spun me, pressed me to the mirror, made me watch as his hands slid lower, possessive and sure.
His mouth caught mine, kisses hard and hungry, stealing breath until I gasped. He pressed me to the bed, tugging clothes away in frantic pulls, teeth grazing my throat, tongue soothing the sting. Heat built fast, his weight pinning me, his lips swallowing every moan.
“Damiano,” I gasped, clawing at his shoulders.
He answered with his tongue, licking deep, nipping, sucking until I writhed. “More,” I begged, voice breaking. His fingerspushed inside, stretching me slow, twisting until I cried out. “Please.”
By the time he slid into me I was shaking, clinging to him, nails biting his skin. “Fuck—yes,” I moaned, and he kissed me through every thrust, groaning into my mouth.
“Harder,” I begged, voice breaking. “Don’t stop.”
“You feel that?” he growled, pace quickening.
“Yes…God, yes,” I gasped, arching up into him. “More.”
Our names broke free between gasps, a litany tangled with curses and pleas. The rhythm built, dark and relentless, sweat slicking our bodies as we moved rough against each other.
The mattress dipped as he tilted me up, his voice rough in my ear. “Take it. Take all of me.”
“Damiano,” I gasped again, trembling.
He shoved harder. “Say it. Say you’re mine.” He drove into me inch by inch until my teeth ached with the sound of his name. His rhythm built messy, brutal and needy, every gasp stolen. One hand locked my hip, the other slid up, gliding slowly down from my throat to my stomach—dangerous and deliberate. My cock throbbed, heat pooling low. Damiano chuckled, low and dark, drinking in my shiver like worship.
His hand slid lower, tracing the inside of my thigh until his thumb found the faded scars there.
Heat spiked through me, tangled with shame. My body betrayed me, arousal and fear flooding together, leaving me exposed. I twisted, half-wanting to hide, half-wanting him to press harder.
His grip pinned me. Rings pressed sharp into skin. “These scars,” he said, voice dark but reverent. “It hurts me to see them, to know you thought you were alone enough to bleed without me.”
Shame burned hotter, but before I could cover myself, he caught my wrist, dragged it away.
“No more hiding,” he said, rough and certain. “Not from me. If there are cuts in your skin, they’ll be ours. If there’s blood, it’ll be because I was here to claim it. Never again because you were left alone.”
He touched the scars again, slower, like sealing a vow. “From now on, every mark is ours. Every cut is to bind us. You and me, ruled by the same blade.”
Something cold flashed from the nightstand. Light slid down the steel as he brought it close, deliberate, inevitable. The flat of the blade lingered over my chest, gliding across my pecs, tracing down my stomach in a slow, sensual path. His eyes drank me in as if every inch was his to worship. “So beautiful,” he murmured, voice low. I flinched at the touch, heat spiking with fear and want both. He paused, a cruel smile ghosting his mouth, letting the silence stretch before he spoke again.
“Oh, you're scared now? If I wanted cruelty,” he breathed at my ear, “I’d carveProperty of Dacross your skin and laugh while you screamed.” His lips curved, sharp but amused. “And I am cruel. Just not with you,marito mio. But I need to be clear you’ll never be alone again.”
